You Asked for Perfect(23)
I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s the first person I opened up to about my school stress. There’s a relief being around him. That’s all.
He glances at me and smiles. My cheeks heat.
Yep, I’m sure it’s nothing.
*
Ten minutes later, we’ve cooked up a double batch of ramen noodles and munched on an entire bag of sour watermelon pieces while it cooked because why not have more sugar?
“Glad to know you’re a great chef like me,” Amir says, divvying up the ramen.
“Who has time to learn how to cook?”
“I wish I could.” We head to the table with the ramen and a bowl of cut fruit. “I’m hungry all the time, and my parents unfortunately have jobs other than feeding me. It’d be fantastic if I could whip up some biryani whenever I want it.”
“True, if I could cook matzo ball soup, I’d probably have it every day.”
“I’ve never tried it.”
I put down my spoon and gape at Amir. “You’ve never had matzo ball soup?”
Amir sips his ramen, looking unconcerned. “Nope.”
I angle my chair toward him and lean forward, hands braced on my knees. “But, dude, you’re missing out on the best food in the world.”
He laughs. “You’re intense about this soup.”
“It’s a soup worthy of intensity. Seriously, though, y’all have come for dinner so many times. We’ve never had matzo ball soup?”
“Nope. But your mom did make brisket once, and it was unspeakably good.”
“Mmm, love brisket.” I sip my ramen broth. Delicious sodium. “I can’t believe you haven’t had the soup, though. You’re going to have to come over. I’ll ask Mom to make it soon.”
“Sure.” He grins at me. “Sounds like a plan.”
A new voice cuts in. “Ariel? Hey! What are you doing here?”
Amir and I both look up to find Rasha in the doorway. She’s wearing all black, from her hijab to her motorcycle boots. I guess we were talking too much to hear her walk in. It’s still so strange spending time with chatty Amir.
“Oh, hey,” I say, shifting in my seat. Damn. I wanted to be gone by the time anyone got home. “Um, I was…”
“He was helping me study for calc,” Amir says, pointing to the textbooks.
The lie fills me with both guilt and relief. “Really?” Rasha asks. “I didn’t know you two…hung out.”
“Yeah, sometimes,” I say. “Want some ramen?” I ask, eager for a subject change.
Rasha makes a face. “Gross. I will take some of that fruit, though.” She sits, kicks her feet up on the edge of the table, and picks out a piece of cantaloupe. “Class went on forever today. It should be illegal for a three-hour lecture to run long, I’m just saying.”
“Sounds rough,” I respond.
Still, I’m jealous. In less than a year, I’ll be the one in college. Giant lecture halls with a hundred people in the class, no one focusing on me, on my grades. No pressure to be the best, only to be good enough.
“Anyways,” Rasha continues. “Now I’m behind on homework. And I was supposed to hand out fliers for the mosque’s Halal Food Festival today, so I guess I’ll have to do that in the morning. Amir, you’re going, right? You promised!”
“Uh, sure,” Amir says. Rasha has always been more religiously observant than the rest of her family. She tries to get her parents to go to services with her, like how Malka urges her parents to join her at shul.
“And,” she continues, “I have all of this stuff to do for Our Campus. This administration gives us no rest. We’re doing a politics segment every week now.”
“Our Campus?” I ask, glancing at Amir.
He nods. “It’s this—”
“It’s the podcast I work on!” Rasha jumps in. “There are a few at our school, but Our Campus is the largest. I scored an internship freshman year, and because I’m a badass, I’m already an assistant producer. We broadcast all kinds of stuff: politics, arts, personal stories, music, and obviously some segments about the school. It’s awesome. I want to get this brother of mine on to talk about his photography. I think it could really jump-start his brand, but he keeps refusing.”
“I don’t want a brand, Rasha,” Amir mutters.
“Well, if you want to have any success in photography, you’d better get started on one.”
“I’m not looking for—” Amir tenses, but his voice stays calm. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“That’s all I’m saying! I’m only trying to help. I love you.” She stands and kisses the top of his head. “Anyways.” Rasha turns back to me. “We produce all sorts of segments.”
Amir looks like he wants to say something else, but then picks up his phone and zones out. Rasha is a little intense, but she’s only trying to help.
As I digest what Rasha said, something clicks. “So, music,” I say. “Do you guys have bands on the show?”
“Yeah, all the time!”
“Are y’all open for auditions?”
She pops a grape into her mouth and chews, then leans forward, eyes bright. “Wait, are you in a band? How did I not know this? Amir!” She looks at him as if it’s his fault somehow, and he shrugs. “Why didn’t you tell me, dude?”